Hidden in plain sight
by iwillregretthisusername
Summary: John had always thought his life would be normal, for once, but with the reappearance of a familiar box in the sky, his world is toppled over, and truth will out. T for (kind of a lot) language.
1. Chapter 1

**Note: I don't think I'll be putting up the new chapter until at least Thursday, I have a huge exam I have to study for on Tuesday, and by the time I write and relax and stuff, well, it'll be Wednesday or Thursday. I don't have much to say besides that this is my first fic here and comments would be appreciated :) I haven't proof-read too well it because I should start studying. Ok, I'm out. Enjoy while I study *narrows eyes and shakes fist*.**

I've never wanted this life. Never liked it. Never wanted this secret fame, this fear, this-

"John?"

My head snaps up, at the sight of Sherlock staring at me with worried eyes. I try to look casual, like I always do. I take a deep breath, calm down, and look back down to the sad sight of the blond girl, spread-eagle on the concrete, with her glazed brown eyes looking up at the blackness of the night, blue and white light form the police cars reflecting in her dead eyes.

"Er- yeah. She was killed with a blow to the head; judging by the pattern, it was something big and heavy enough to kill, but small to conceal on themselves without attracting attention." I consider the suspect and what weapons could end this poor girl's life for a few moments. "If, per say, it was the boyfriend who did it, I'd have to be inclined towards the possibility of it being his football shoes, what do they call them? Cleats I think?"

I get up on my feet (it's quite tiring to crouch for this long) and stretch. I'm not as young as I had always been.

"Quite right. I already knew that, but I wanted you to figure it out. I'll send the information to Lestrade."

By now, I was too used to him doing that to actually care, or notice, so I just nodded as he whipped out his phone and typed a quick message to Lestrade, telling him that we'd solved yet another of his cases.

He finally looks up and flashes me a smile as I looped my arm through his.

"Alright, when's the last time you ate?"

"Monday." He looks utterly nonplussed, and Sherlock had gone on without eating a bite for longer before anyway. But still.

"Sherlock, it's Thursday! You should've said something before you know! God, how do you survive?"

"I don't see the point of concentrating my energies towards eating when I could be doing something practical. I got used to it in my teenage years."

"You're a complete twat," I laugh, punching him softly.

There was a hint of a smile at his lips.

"So what do you want to eat, right now?"

"What about take-away?"

"Sounds good," I say, yawning. "Oh, we'd better get a cab, I don't feel like walking the half of London to get home right now. It's a bit late and I'm tired."

"I'll get one."

"Thanks, love."

Minutes later, we get into a cab and make our way towards Baker Street. Since it's the middle of winter, I cuddle close to Sherlock, inhaling his mixed smell of detergent and some sort of sharp spice of his cloak. I don't know how long we've been in the cab, and don't really care, honestly, the only thing I remember is slowly drifting to sleep.

_"John. John, wake up."_

I can hear his voice, I know it's Sherlock's, but I really don't want to get up. This is the only sleep I've gotten in the last 24 hours.

Then again.

_"John. Get up. There's something wrong."_

This time, he nudges me a bit. Damnit.

"What is it?" I mumble, still-half asleep.

"Open your eyes and look outside into the sky," he whispers urgently.

I do as he tells and nearly pass out from shock.

What the fuck is that doing there? It couldn't be. No. He was gone. Forever. I was still too tired to function properly. One quick glance at Sherlock's face tells me, no, I'm not delusional.

I spring up straight, and suddenly, all remains of sleep washed away by the sudden jolt of panic that I try to conceal the best I can.

The sudden action makes the cabbie jump. OK, I must've been out for quite a while, then.

I try to focus my attention on what Sherlock is saying.

"You see the blue light now? Now I want you to look around it, all other light is blocked out, making it become a box. Now the light isn't constant, it's pulsing. Judging by the speed and distance, it's the size of a..." His brows furrow, like always when he's confused and doesn't understand. "Telephone box."

"Er- Are you sure? It could just be a satellite or something, I mean," I chuckle, my voice strained. "It's not like telephone boxes... Fly!"

He looks at me with blazing eyes.

"John, do I look like an amateur?"

"No... It's just... GOD Sherlock! This is ridiculous! You expect me to believe _that_ phone box" I point to the blue box, hand shaking, "is flying through space? I think we both need some time to sleep and relax tonight."

He looks up at the box, hurtling towards the Eye, and without even glancing at me, utters heart-stopping words.

"You're hiding something." He says it as a fact.

"I- what?" Blurting out like that really helps, John. God now I come off as lying and a lunatic.

"Oh please. Everything about your body language and how you're reacting to this is off and too exaggerated. Now, you could keep it from me, or I'll just find out eventually anyway." He sounds so bored. How can he sound so bored while I'm about to have a panic attack?

I don't answer, I just pretend I went back to sleep. My breaths are rugged and I'm certain Sherlock can tell I'm faking, but he doesn't say anything about it.

When we reach Baker Street, we get out and he pays the cabby, then takes long strides towards me, standing stock-still in front of 221B, unable to move.

"What is it?"

"Nothing," I respond quickly, turning the key in the lock. He looks at me, inquiringly, but I don't answer.

We go inside and as soon as we put one foot in 221B, I hear Mrs. Hudson.

"Boys? Is that you?"

"Yes, Mrs. Hudson, you can go back to sleep, it's 2am!"

Sherlock then takes off his coat and scarf, turns to me and says:"Aren't you going to take your coat off?"

"Um, yeah. Sorry, I'm quite tired today."

I take off my coat and bring it upstairs with me, shaking. I can still feel the paper in my hands, scrunched up and small.

I re-read it in my mind, picturing the familiar scrawl.

_I'm back! Did you miss me?_

_You were out so I just left a note, I'll be back tomorrow, though._

_I want to explore a bit more of the Titanic first, should be here around tea time._

_x,_

_δ³Σx²_


	2. Chapter 2

**Note: Sorry I haven't updated it as soon as I should've... Also, um, the flat having two levels is sort of my idea because idk I thought it'd be cool to have two levels to 221B (I'm not including Mrs. Hudson's place; that'd make 3 levels). **

**Ugh, I had wrote this intro then my computer crashed so anyways, let me re-write this: thank you so much to everyone who left nice comments and followed this story, much appreciated xx **

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own Sherlock or any of its' characters. **

**Oh, and uh, I'm trying to master the use of John's PoV, but it's quite hard for some reason... (Yes, I know this chapter was slower than the other one, but I'm not done the fic ok it'll be better later on I pinkie promise!) Anyway, enjoy! x**

I re-read the note over and over at the kitchen table and folded and unfolded it until it ripped right down the middle. I couldn't sleep, so I decided I may as well update my blog. I was still shaking and sweating from seeing the note, but I didn't feel like taking my shower. I walked towards the desk, turning on my laptop, watching the little wheel turn, tapping my foot while waiting for the welcome screen to pop up. I clicked the shortcut to "The Blog of John Watson", and started tapping furiously.

An hour later, after having finished the update of my blog ("One Day These Shoes Will Walk All Over You") I lay down on the sofa, staring up at the ceiling, the thoughts of the blue box and all it's secrets consuming my mind. I vaguely heard a chime coming from my computer, announcing a notification. I got up, my legs screaming in agony due to all the ridiculous amount of running we did yesterday and slid two fingers to the left on the keypad to check my notifications. New Comment for One Day These Shoes Will Walk All Over You, it read.

"That was quick," I muttered as I opened it up.

New Comment by user CoolBowties11:

JOHN I DON'T KNOW HOW TO USE THIS INTERNET BUT IT'S COOL AND-

I slammed the laptop closed before I could finish reading the comment, hunched over and dry heaved.

"HE'S ALWAYS FUCKING THERE!", I shouted while punching the sofa repeatedly. I didn't care that it was 3am, or that Sherlock was upstairs, all I cared about is him and how I could never get away.

"John, are you okay?"

I got up, turned around and saw Sherlock poking out of the door frame wrapped in a white bed sheet, curiosity ablaze in his bright eyes.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock, um, too much work... Go back to bed, I'm fine." I turned away from him in shame.

"John, you obviously aren't fine. You have been acting strange the past few weeks... Do you want to talk about it?"

I snorted.

"Sherlock, do you honestly want to talk about feelings? It's okay, love, I'll talk to my psychiatrist." I sighed, walked into the kitchen and reached into the cupboard where the tea usually was (when Sherlock wasn't doing an experiment).

"What are you hiding from me?"

"Nothing! I've just been reacting from all the stress these past weeks, I'll grab a pill and I should be just fine!"

He just stared at me, mocking me from afar. He sighed and walked back up the stairs.

"Oh and don't keep the cupboard open too long, I don't want the mice to get out."

"JESUS FUCK, SHERLOCK! COULDN'T YOU HAVE TOLD ME THAT BEFORE I FUCKING OPENED IT!? OR HERE'S ANOTHER IDEA: DON'T PUT FUCKING MICE IN THE CUPBOARD WE USE FOR TEA!" I waved my arms around wildly, probably looking like I was mad.

I was fuming, and even though I knew I shouldn't blow up like that, I had caved in to the stress and since Sherlock was the person nearest me and easiest to lash out at, he was the one getting all the blame.

We stood there for a few minutes, him staring at me with his nostrils flaring, and me trying to calm down, unsuccessfully.

"I'm going out," I heard his curt tone and I was going to apologize, but I knew he was beyond pissed off and would just ignore me.

He went up the stairs calmly, and came back a few minutes later, dressed and gave me a scathing look before racing down the stairs to put on his coat and scarf.

The front door slammed just as Mrs. Hudson came into the apartment in her nightie and fluffy slippers, looking exceedingly confused (and tired).

"John? What's going on? Sherlock just stormed downstairs, is he okay?"

"Sorry to wake you up, Mrs. Hudson. He's just... Acting like Sherlock. Go back downstairs. Sorry again, Mrs. Hudson."

She turned around, mumbled something that sounded like "It's okay, dear... Used to... Sherlock... 'Night."

As soon as I was alone, I felt better, like I couldn't hurt anyone this way. I should just go away, and stop pretending I wasn't hurting everyone I came close to.

When I was sufficiently calmed down and had a beer (the whole selection of tea in the cupboard had been ruined because of the mice), I decided to go to sleep. It would help me relax, I thought. I walked out of the living room and up the stairs picking up the sheet Sherlock had tossed away carelessly in his rage, brushed my teeth and plopped into bed, finding it cold without Sherlock to cuddle up to. I guess I had to suck it up, because I was the reason he walked out so fast. He'd be back in a few hours, though. I fell asleep.

A few hours later, I woke up suddenly because of a horrible nightmare in which Sherlock jumped off a building because he was so mad at me. I got out of bed, ignoring the dream, walked downstairs, grabbed a glass of water and climbed back up the stairs. I crept back into bed and looked at the alarm clock, which read 6:07AM, very early indeed. I couldn't go back to sleep, though, so instead of trying to go back to sleep, I took a shower. As the cold water dripped down my face I gasped in shock. "He's coming today."

My stomach twisted in fear as the fact slammed into me and I had to lean against the wall to prevent falling. Tears gathered in my eyes at the thought of everything that had happened between us and how it had ended so abruptly. I turned off the shower, patted myself dry with a towel and put on a red jumper, red pants and a pair of freshly laundered trousers. I might as well look smart. Look good in the face of war, something I had done a long time before, quite literally.

As I went downstairs slowly, I head the soft notes of a violin playing. Sherlock was composing. Shit. I kept on marching down the stairs and peeked my head around the corner of the door, watching Sherlock composing, his face scrunched up in concentration and staring blankly at the window while tentatively trying out a quick succession of notes. I made some coffee for myself and left a second cup next to Sherlock, just in case.

For the next few hours I did nothing except read the paper and go for a walk, trying to calm down. When I came back home, I felt more... Energy. I opened the door and heard a few words coming from upstairs, which nearly made me go into cardiac arrest.

"Hello! I'm The Doctor!"


	3. Chapter 3

Fuck. Shit. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. I leaned against the door, trying not to collapse completely.

"I think I heard something downstairs. I'll go check. Don't touch the blue box while I'm gone: I don't know if she'll like you."

His voice. The one I'd been running away for years. The one that had made me discover the world, the universe, everything! Running with him had been short, but had made me open my eyes to the world of possibilities; literally.

I heard a pair of shoes go down the stairs. Tap-tap. Tap-tap. Tap-tap. Closer. Tap-tap. Tap. The tapping slowed down.

I took a deep breath. I couldn't run away anymore. Nothing stayed hidden from him.

I lifted my head slightly, stood up straight and nonchalantly strutted inside, turned to close and lock the door and felt a hand on my shoulder.

"John."

I jumped and turned around violently.

"Why are you here?," I asked in barely more than a terrified whisper.

"This has to stop. I'm surprised you haven't told anything to that man upstairs I -"

"Sherlock. His name is Sherlock," I hissed.

"That's a nice name. He doesn't seem too bewildered. Strange." He scrunched his face into a grimace, probably wondering why Sherlock wasn't awestruck. Maybe annoyed. You could never tell what he was thinking. The Doctor's mind was a mysterious cloud of collective thoughts inside the locked box of emotions and knowledge that was his head, and nobody had the key to crack that box open and discover his secrets.

"We have to talk. Actually, we should've talked about this since you left."

In a moment of insanity, I agreed.

"Fine. Go upstairs while I take off my coat." I mustered up enough strength in my legs to walk a bit and take off my coat, as slowly as I dared, whilst the lanky figure of the Doctor ran back up the stairs, back to the box and Sherlock.

As soon as I dragged my feet up the steps, all the while gripping the handrail for dear life, and mounted the last step, I could feel energy emanating from the room. Not just because an enormous magic blue box was stationed in the middle of the living room, but because everybody in the room was tense. I couldn't decide if the energy I could almost feel on my fingertips was positive or negative. It felt like a mix of both, with a dash of excitement. I stepped into the room and lifted my head.

A voice I didn't expect piped up: "John? Who is this? He just appeared out of thin air! He said you'd explain, I don't know who he is, but he is pretty handsome..."

"It's alright, Mrs. Hudson, I know him. From, erm, long ago."

"Well, it would be rude to let him starve here. What would you like to eat or drink, love?"

"Do you have any fish sticks and custard,by any chance? That's my favorite," He smiled goofily and sat down in my chair, bringing up his legs to sit cross-leggedly.

She seemed taken aback.

"Oh. Okay... What about something to drink? Tea?"

"That would be great!" The Doctor smiled a genuine smile, I could tell he very much liked Mrs. Hudson.

"I'll make some for all of you boys."

"Put something strong in mine please, Mrs. Hudson," I said weakly.

She looked at me, smiled pitifully and quietly walked back downstairs, her heels clicking softly against the wooden floor, her purple dress disappearing behind the landing.

I sat down next to Sherlock and entwined my fingers softly with his, his thumb tracing circles absentmindedly against my hand. I felt his hard silver ring against my fingers, a material proof that we had made a promise. He looked at me and raised his eyebrows, asking me a silent question. I just shook my head.

"How long have you been here, Doctor?" It could be anywhere from the moment I left to a few minutes before I came back.

"Oh, maybe a few minutes."

I checked my phone for new texts from Sherlock, and as I had predicted, there was one.

_Come to Baker Street. Urgent. -SH_

I put my phone back in my pocket.

An awkward silence followed.

"Well, congratulations on your... erm, wedding and marriage and stuff. That's so human." He drifted off, I could see it in his eyes; a thought taking over his mind, a glazed look plastered over his face while he was smiling vaguely.

"Yes, thank you. Moving on." I had no time for whacking around the bush. But I didn't want to get straight to the point. Convenient.

I could feel my hands getting sweaty and my heart beating too hard for my body, for what felt like the thousandth time this week. What would Sherlock think after this ordeal was over?

It was in that moment, as I turned to look at the Doctor and back to Sherlock again, it hit me that they were the same: two geniuses that sometimes preferred isolation but lived for their companions. The only difference between them was that one had to carry the burden of emotions in a single heart while the other had two hearts to help him live through all the pain and injustice he'd been through. He would've otherwise had concentrated all his hardship in one beating heart, but would that've been possible?

"Now! Introductions have been made; I'm The Doctor, he's Sherlock, but now we have to get down to business." The Doctor clapped his hands once, his face going cheery to serious in an instant.

"Why are you really here?" I didn't believe it was only because "This had to stop". There had to be something else.

"Wait. Explain all of... _this..._ first." It had been the first time Sherlock had spoken with me in the same room since he'd had his tantrum last night. He sounded very confused, and nobody could blame him.

"Okay. Sherlock, there are things I haven't told you about myself." He opened his mouth as if to speak. "Now, before you start, I have to say I didn't say any of it because you would think I were mad, which I probably am, but anyway, here it goes.

"This is The Doctor. You were here when he landed?" He nodded curtly. "Well, to explain him, I must explain her. Her as in the TARDIS. That stands for-"

"Time And Relative Dimension In Space. Sorry. I can't resist! I mean she _is _mine." He smiled goofily like he does when he talks of the TARDIS.

"It's fine but don't interrupt me again. This is hard enough as it is."

I took a deep breath and continued.

"I um... I've never been in the army. The bullet wound... I got it from er- an alien."

After a pause that seemed infinite, Sherlock just laughed a bit.

"Well I always knew you were hiding something, but this is quite different than I expected."

I shifted myself a bit, so that I could look at him head-on.

"So, wait, you believe this?!"

"I would know if you were lying."

He was curt all of a sudden. It had all shaken him, I could tell.

"Um, also this man here, The Doctor, he... Well, you can explain who you are."

I fell into silence, not wanting to talk anymore, feeling numb, my heart racing, wondering what Sherlock would do next.

"Well! This is the TARDIS (as I've said before) and basically, it-"

"Travels through time and space. I am not thick, Doctor."

He seemed taken aback by Sherlock's monotone voice.

"Yes, erm, well, anyway, I am a Time Lord, from another planet. And contrary to popular belief, I am not the last of the Time Lords."

Sherlock didn't say anything. Just stared.

"There are two remaining Time Lords. And you are standing in a room with both."


End file.
